


Dog Day Evening: Callahan's Crosstown Diner #4

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Callahan's Crosstown Diner [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Diners, F/M, M/M, Mutant Powers, Mutual Pining, and MAOS, because of AOU, starting to diverge from canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life goes on at Callahan's. There's a new waitress and a familiar new face. Clueless pining, hiding, bad days are all helped by good food and excellent coffee. This story takes place from the end of season 2 of Agents of SHIELD to Antman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Day Evening: Callahan's Crosstown Diner #4

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to just continue with what I've started rather than try and change to fit AOU canon. So Clint doesn't have a family, and Bruce/Nat didn't happen. Oh, and I'm making changes to Agents of SHIELD too. 
> 
> As I finished this, I found myself craving a really good grilled cheese. Go figure.

Thing about New York City? Mayors come and go, stars become famous overnight and fall just as fast, and the stock market goes from bull to bear in hours, but the citizens stay the same. From the people who ride the subway in every morning, commuting on trains for all kinds of jobs, to the wealthy people with penthouse views of Central Park, New Yorkers just keep plugging along in the city that never sleeps. They survive what life throws at them, cry their tears, mourn the dead, clean up the city, and get back to the business of living. They even laugh at horrible movies like Sharknado 2 and put up with all the tourists because they love the place they call home. 

 

But every now and then things happen that shake New York to its very core. 9/11, the fall of the twin towers, the signs of all the missing, dust covered police, and so many dead firefighters. The Chitauri attack, a hole in the sky, alien space ships, flying space whales, and so much destruction. Events like that change a community, shift connections and loyalties. Some support the government, turn to their elected leaders for aid. Others deify the heroes, make them godlike with their powers. Still more get angry, asking why and where and who didn’t. And most tighten the bonds that hold them together, clinging to family and friends to get through. 

 

At Callahan’s Crosstown Diner, changes were bound to happen. Rena went home to be with her sick mother; Mark got a scholarship to play football at Notre Dame. Andy hired two new cooks to share the workload and both a waitress and a busboy. He added some new seating on the outdoor patio that James helped build, a popular place in the spring and fall, and was making plans to update the menu. But some things remained the same; dishes were named for 80s songs, the diner had the best damn coffee in all of NYC, and superheroes dropped by quite often. 

 

It was, after all, a place where they were nothing more than part of the family.

 

**ANGELA JOHNSON**

 

Sue me, but I like snow. Especially when it’s just fallen and is all pretty and white, covering the dirty streets. Yeah, I know, I know; it becomes that muddy slush and it’s all grey, black, icky, but there’s something about that first blush when it’s like remaking the world. Doesn’t mean I like being out in the bone chilling cold, walking from the subway six blocks to work, but transfers cost money, and I can’t afford to make the two changes. Besides, walking’s good for my waist and means I can eat french fries every now and then.  

 

Working at Callahan’s is a damn sight better than my old job at the Dunkin’ Donuts. Funny how the worst day turned out to be a good day. When those big old aliens pointed their weapons at me and the customers, I thought that was it, that I’d survived growing up in my neighborhood only to die at the end of a gun anyway. Didn’t matter if it was a laser or ray gun. Dead is dead. But then I found myself in the diner, helping feed all the people and keep them safe and, well, I’m still here, serving tables and getting tips and making friends. Maybe this time I’m really going to do it, get out of Hell’s Kitchen for good. 

 

“... the 6.5 magnitude earthquake that rocked Puerto Rico last week centered in San Juan left the historic Ponce de Leon theatre in shambles …”

 

“Food’s up.” I balanced the tray as I put the plates down on the table. A tense silence had fallen between the two men, both of them looking away, being sure to not make eye contact. “Got a Cold Hearted BLT with avocado and mango salsa.” I slid that one in front of Phil and added the side fruit salad he’d ordered instead of fries. “And a bowl of Der Kommissar borsch with potatoes and onions.” Clint got that; he put his salted caramel milkshake down and grabbed a hunk of dark brown bread from the basket. I wanted to say more, to tell them they were being big idiots about this whole thing, but I wasn’t sure it was my place. Honestly, I didn’t exactly have much to offer to an Avenger and the Director of SHIELD; I barely finished high school -- thank you Jesus for summer classes -- so what did I know? 

 

“Thanks, Angel,” Clint said with a half-hearted wink. His blue grey eyes flicked up to the TV which was still showing the devastation in Puerto Rico then back down to his food. 

 

“Dumb idiots,” I mumbled as I slid behind the counter to get some place settings for empty tables. We’d just gotten past the lunch rush and I was helping catch up with prepping. “Men.” 

 

“Hey,” Kris said with a laugh. “Some of us have a clue over here.” 

 

“Exception noted,” I replied. I liked Kris a lot.  He reminded me of my best friend from high school; he’d gone off to Hollywood with the dream of being a big movie star. We spent a lot of texts grousing about working food service while he was waiting on his big break. 

 

I got busy getting ice cream for table seven -- darjeeling peach and avocado cream -- and next time I passed by, Phil was on his phone while Clint stared out the window. I  decided now wasn’t the time to interrupt based upon Clint’s resting face; Phil was talking about a problem with Skye. I liked the young hacker; she was always nice and tipped well now that she had a salary. She came in for take out more often than I saw Phil. 

 

As I put napkin wrapped silverware at the next table, I narrowed in on the conversation, the voices becoming crisper. It’s not eavesdropping if they’re talking in public; trust me, I’ve had a few long talks with Rev. Heinemeyer about what’s right and wrong. Being able to hear better than others, even if it was only across a small room, came with the responsibility to not invade people’s privacy. But, hey, they were right there at the table and it wasn’t like I could hear the other end of the phone call, right?

 

“I’ll be right there,” Phil was promising before he hung up. “I’ve done what I need to in the city; give me two hours.” 

 

Clint pushed his half empty bowl away and dug into his pocket for his wallet. “I’ve got this. Go.” 

 

Phil sighed. “I don’t have to run right this second. Finish your lunch.”

 

“Nope,” Clint took out a twenty and a ten and laid them on table. “You’ve done what you need to.”

 

“Jesus, Clint, I was talking about work, not you,” Phil protested. “Are you going to keep punishing me forever?”

 

“I’m not …” Clint exhaled loudly and paused before going on. “You still don’t get it. I’m not mad that you didn’t tell us. I get that, okay?”

 

“That’s what you say, but being around you is like walking on eggshells,” Phil complained. “So obviously, you’re still angry with me.”

 

“Not with you.” Clint sat back heavily, his leather clad elbows squeaking against the vinyl of the bench. “I’m just … you said you didn’t have anything keeping you here, no connections. Basically, you felt free to move on.”

 

“Yes. You and Nat were with your new team; you didn’t need me anymore. Then everything happened at the Triskelion and I had a job to do.” Phil sounded tired, like he’d repeated the answer before.  

 

“Didn’t need you.” Clint’s half-laugh was sad around the edges. “Yeah, that’s it.” He was suddenly in motion, pushing out of the bench and standing up. “Well, they need you now, so you better hurry.” 

 

The man could move fast when he wanted to; he was out the front door before Andy looked up from the kitchen. Phil didn’t shift at all, just staring at the now empty seat across from him, looking lost and helpless. 

 

“You know,” Kris said, leaning on the counter. “Telling one of your oldest friends you thought he didn’t care about you might not be the best idea.”

 

“That’s not what I …” Phil looked stunned. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant … he has new friends, a new family.  By the time I realized … he didn’t need me to upset the apple cart.”

 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I spun on my heel and glared at him. “What a couple of martyrs. I didn’t want to upset him. He’s better off without me. Maybe you should ask what he wants rather than assuming. You better than most know how little time we really have.” 

 

“Angela …” Tim reached out for me from his seat at the counter, a look of concern in his eyes. “Phil’s going to tell him, aren’t you Phil?” 

 

Far as I knew, Phil Coulson didn’t know anything about my past, but then he was the director of a major spy organization, so he probably had files on all of us. Not sure how I felt about that; my past is mine and the pain for me alone. Well, me and my mom. Every day something reminds me of Rich, another never to add to the list. Never graduating high school, never have a first date, never becoming an astronaut. 

 

“Tell him?” Phil sighed and shook his head. “He’s barely speaking to me.”

 

“Don’t rightly blame him,” Tim said. “Hell, I don’t have to read minds like Kayla to know how he feels about you. He thinks you never cared about him.” 

 

“He can’t …” Phil stopped, thought about it. “Of course he can. Because he’s an idiot. We’re both idiots.” 

 

“Amen to that,” I muttered under my breath. 

 

Phil stood up and grabbed his coat. “I’ve got to run,” he said. 

 

“About time.” Kris said as the door swung shut behind him. 

 

I hummed a little tune as I started setting the tables. Maybe something good would come out of all this craziness. Maybe. 

 

**MALACHI GRANT**

 

I always seemed to be working when all hell broke loose in the city. That’s the night shift for you in the Big Apple. Sometimes it’s boring with nothing to do but tinker with the toaster and other nights it’s crazy non-stop running from one place to the other. I was studying for my differential equations midterm when the anchor broke into the soup nazi episode of Seinfeld; a series of explosions were rocking Hell’s Kitchen and a masked vigilante was being hunted by the police. 

 

“Jesus,” Tim said, leaning over the counter to get a better look at the screen. “What are they saying? Can you turn it up, Mal?” 

 

I nodded and the volume notched up a few ticks. “... known as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is believed to be inside the building …”

 

“How close is that to Espos?” I asked Andy. We get most of our beef from that butcher shop and it’s good stuff. 

 

“A good five blocks south,” he answered, plating up a Black Velvet PBJ&B sandwich. “Take this over to Bruce, please. Rita’s on the phone.” 

 

Organic blueberry jam, homemade vanilla honey peanut butter, a layer of caramelized bananas between two slices of dense brown bread, breaded and deep fried. The sandwich was one of my favorite as well as being a heart attack on a plate. Not that it mattered to Dr. Banner; his appetite was legendary around the diner. 

 

“Here you go.” I slid the plate onto the only clear space on the table littered with papers, a laptop and a Starkpad. First thing I mastered at Callahan’s was how to carefully not look while still looking. Whatever Bruce was working on, it was a complex equation that made my homework look like simple addition. “Fries’ll be right up.” 

 

Something was off with Dr. Banner; ever since the whole Sokovia’s a giant asteroid deal, he’d been scarce, only showing up in the last month, slinking in, taking a booth and pretty much staying under the radar. Not that I blamed him; when you destroyed a city in a fit of rage, well, I’d hide too. But I suspected there was more to it than that; Sarah agreed. Her theory was woman troubles. 

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his eyes glued to the numbers he was scratching on graph paper. Then he stopped and looked up, really seeing me. “Mal. How’s NYU going?”

 

“Hard, but I like it. Not sure which engineering I’m going to stick with, but I don’t have to decide for another semester or two,” I told him. Dr. Banner had helped me pick a program and apply for scholarships. 

 

“There’s always physics.” He and Tony had a friendly rivalry over what field I should pursue. 

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I really didn’t want to pick a side, but I preferred the hands on building to theory. 

 

“... shots fired, Wolf. There’s an officer down, I repeat, an officer down …” 

 

I wanted to ask but that would violate the unwritten rule. We never mentioned that we knew who they were; we all prided ourselves on treating everyone as normal as possible. Didn’t matter if they were a Broadway star, a sales clerk, a superhero, a CEO, or a bus driver; at Callahan’s you were family. 

 

“Damn it,” Bruce muttered, pulling out his phone, looking at it then dropping it on the table. “ I’m the last thing they need.” 

 

The bell jingled as a couple came in, out-of-towners who looked wide-eyed at the TV as they took one of the smaller booths. Rita showed up immediately, a smile on her face that was comforting and welcoming. 

 

“Whatever’s going on,” I said, unable to stop myself. “You should talk to him. Her. Whoever. One thing I’ve learned from working here? Family makes all the difference.”

 

I left him to his calculations; walking past the newcomers, I bumped the table and fixed the guy’s cell phone so he could call home to say he was safe. Tim gave me a smile as I grabbed the plastic tub and went to clean off another booth. What seems like just another night in the city could be down right scary to others. 

 

**ANTOINE DEFRE** I

 

So, hanging at Cal’s is the best part of my day on most days. Ever since Dad decided that he prefered his young, blonde secretary to Mom, going home pretty much sucks. Mom’s always upset and starts with her martinis earlier each month -- it used to be five o’clock and now it’s two -- and I guess I can’t blame her. How was she supposed to know Dad would have a midlife crisis, decide to come out as gay and move in with a 22-year-old aspiring actor who happened to work part time at the Embassy? 

 

Still, it’s awkward when I visit Dad or he comes to the house, which is most of the time because they’re living in a one bedroom flat with two dogs and I have to sleep on the futon covered in pet hair. Plus, my school papers state my address as our original home … Mom’s home … yeah, whatever … and I have all my things there. Anyway, coming here and needling Katya about her latest celebrity crush is the only normal left; nobody here treats me any differently than before and if it rains a lot more around the diner, well, they don’t complain. 

 

We’d stayed later than usual today because we had to finish up Ethan Fromme for honors English. Homework always trumped my mom’s temper; a nice outline of an American classic was a get out of jail free card. Katya still had milkshake in her glass and we never left until every drop was gone.

 

The door jingled and Leo Fitz came in; all by himself, he glanced around the diner, sizing up everyone there. When he saw us, he came straight our way, stopping in front of our table. “Um, hey.” He fiddled his fingers together, eyes darting between mine and Katya’s face then he turned so he could see the door. “So, I was wondering … doesn’t one of your parents work at the Embassy? I need a visa to enter Russia and thought you could help me get one faster.” 

 

“You want Larisa; she works in the visa office. My father doesn’t even know where the office is; his is a political appointment. He dines well and drinks with powerful men.” Katya took a piece of paper from her notebook and wrote down a name. “Tell her you’re a friend of Jemma who helped my study group pass chemistry. Larisa’s daughter is in the group.” 

 

At the mention of the doctor’s name, Leo’s smile disappeared, a sadness in his eyes. “This is for Jemma,” he said, taking the paper and tucking it in his jacket pocket. “I’ll buy you a clotted cream milkshake next time I here.” 

 

Before we could say anything in return, the door opened again, and a tall black man ducked his head as he entered the diner. Not just tall, but big shoulders, muscular arms and slim waist. I thought Katya’s eyes were going to pop out of her head just like the wolf in those old cartoons. Me, I was distracted by Skye who followed him; she’d cut her hair short and it looked really, really good. I liked short hair. Okay, maybe I had a little bit of a crush on Skye; she wasn’t that much older than me and she was always nice. 

 

“You’re not going to talk me out of it.” Leo bristled, drawing himself up to his full height, the tip of his curly hair coming to the taller man’s shoulder. “So you may as well go back and tell Coulson I said so.”

 

“We’re just here to help, Turbo,” the man said. “Can’t we just sit down and talk?”

 

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m going to find Jemma and that’s that. I know you don’t think I can handle myself, but you’re wrong,” Leo objected. “You can give up if you want to.”

 

“Fitz. I know you want to help her, we all do. But you don’t have to do it alone,” Skye interjected. “Talk to us.” 

 

“Just cover for me with Coulson, okay? I promise I’ll let you know if I find anything.” Fitz pushed past them; the man grabbed Fitz’s wrist. 

 

“Leo. Please,” he said, eyes filled with concern. 

 

“I have to, Mack. Jemma means everything to me.” With that declaration, Leo fled. 

 

For a few seconds, the two stood in the aisle then Katya gently touched Skye’s elbow and nodded to the booth next to ours. Before they had even settled into the plastic covered benches, Roy had a caramel mocha for Skye and a strawberry kale smoothie for Mack ready. Since Kayla was on shift, she merely patted Skye’s hand and put an order in for the both of them. 

 

“You know he doesn’t mean Jemma’s the only thing that matters,” Skye said. 

 

With her back to the other booth, Katya scrunched up her nose at the comment. She loved to do this to me; I had to keep a straight face while she did everything she could to get me to react. So much for Russian stoicism; she was the biggest joker I knew. 

 

“He’s in love with her, Tremors. Can’t deny that.” Mack sipped at his smoothie , his face downcast. 

 

Katya rolled her eyes at me because, duh, Fitz followed Jemma around like a puppy. Of course he was in love with her. Anyone could see that.

 

“He’s in love with the idea of Jemma,” Skye told him. “And he has no idea how you feel. You should tell him. At least give him the choice. He might surprise you.” 

 

Eyes widened and Katya’s mouth made a little O. Well, that was an interesting bit of information. Tall, dark and handsome had a thing for Fitz? Wow. I thought over Skye’s point, and Katya’s little head nod told me she was contemplating it too. Was Fitz in love with Jemma? Or was he in love with a fantasy?. 

 

“We’re balanced on the head of a pin as it is,” Mack said. “I won’t be the last straw.” 

 

“You and A.C. I swear. What is it with guys playing the martyr? He keeps saying this time he’s going to set things straight then rushes off into danger. Last thing we need is more unresolved tension,” Skye complained. 

 

That proclamation earned me the stink eye from Katya; I’d heard almost the same thing from her lips multiple times. Seems she thinks I’m in love with the idea of being in love, but I can’t help the fact that I’m a romantic at heart. I like those lingering glances and secret admirer notes. Sue me.

 

“Here we go.” Kayla brought the food over. “An extra-large One Night in Bangkok salad with pineapples, peppers, fried wontons, and parmesan chicken breast. Andy’s homemade miso dressing is on the side.” She sat the big bowl in front of Mack. “And a Warrior burger for the lady, extra applewood bacon, onion marmalade and two slices of Havarti. Cottage fries are fresh from the fryer, so be careful.” 

 

My phone buzzed, and my dad’s face popped up; I sent it to voicemail but a text followed immediately, telling me to meet him their apartment because he had news. “Oh merde,” I cursed under his breath. “What new hell is this?” 

 

Snatching the phone from my hands, Katya read the screen and made a sour face. “My money’s on a wedding in the future.” 

 

Oh God in heaven, she was probably right. And my mother was going to go ballistic once she found out. In her mind, this was just a phase my dad was going through, ignoring how happy he was. 

 

“Go, get it over with. Maybe they will tell you they are going on a world cruise for the honeymoon and need you to dog sit while they’re gone,” Katya said. “Text me when you find out.” 

 

I didn’t like it, but she was right. She usually was. So I gathered my things and headed for the door. Skye and Mack were eating, talking now about other things; I nodded as I passed and made my way down the alley towards the subway stop. Just as I turned the corner, the rain started, sun disappearing behind a grey cloud to match my mood.

 

**KRIS DUVALL**

 

“Here you go,” I said, sliding another cup of Costa Rican Italian Roast across the counter. Roy had added just a drop of stress relief and a dollop of energy; the woman looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and a pale complexion. As I handed her mug, I brushed her finger. A wave of pain, such suffering and darkness, a sense of helplessness immediately swamped by strength, more than I had ever felt. She was hurting, but she was handling it. And that was pretty damn impressive. “You ready to order?” 

 

She wandered in about twenty minutes ago, climbed up on a stool, and leaned her elbows on the counter, holding her head. So far, the only word she’d mumbled was “Coffee” and she’d finished that cup. Now her eyes were clearer but she still smelled of alcohol, her t-shirt stained under her leather jacket. 

 

“Yeah, um.” She dug in her pocket and managed to find a handful of crumpled bills and some change “What can I get for … seven dollars and eighty-two cents?”

 

“That’ll get you the special, soup and half a sandwich,” I told her. We always helped out locals down on their luck; something about this woman’s flat brown eyes and messy black hair said that she’d hit bottom in her life. “If you like spicy, we’ve got Straight Up white bean chili; the other option is the Frankie Says Relax Chicken Noodle. Nice thick broth on that one with rice noodles.”

 

“Relax?” She half-snorted a laugh into her cup. “Somebody’s got a sense of humor.” 

 

“Andy, the owner, has a soft spot of 80s music, especially one-hit wonders. One of the sandwich choices is the Come On Eileen with rashers and Kerrygold dubliner with Irish stout. One of the best grilled cheeses you’ll ever eat,” I told her.

 

“And the other sandwich? Take on Me smoked fish?” She was coming to life as she spoke, a gleam in her eye now as she joked. 

 

“The Conga Quesadilla. Andy makes his own salsa and the chicken is jerked spiced. Goes well with the chili.” I chuckled; I liked sassy women. Let’s face it, I liked women in general and beneath the pain writ on her face, this dark haired woman was smart. “So, what’s your poison?” 

 

“The chicken soup and grilled cheese,” she said. “Don’t think my stomach could handle anything spicy.” 

 

I put the order up, delivered a bowl of chili to Tim  and a burger to the lawyer at the end of the counter. By the time I got back, Sam Wilson had slid onto the stool next to her, sighing as he took the weight off of his feet. 

 

“Seriously, man. Next time I say I’ll do a favor for a friend, just smack me.” He motioned to Roy. “Set me up with a cup of joe and tell me what the burger of the day is. I need protein, preferably greasy cheesy goodness in a bun.” 

 

“The African Burger -- coconut lamb patty with fried sweet potatoes, a peri peri sauce, and some red pepper slaw.” I knew Sam could handle the heat; he’s one of those people that turn red, gasp, and go back for the second bite. “You’ll want a milkshake with it. We’ve got ginger ice cream today.” 

 

“Make it a large,” Sam told me. 

 

“Be careful there,” the woman said. “Milkshakes are a crutch, you know.” 

 

“I’ll take that risk.” He offered her his hand. “Sam, nice to meet you.”

 

“Jessica.” She shook it then I put her soup in front of her; picking up her spoon, she took a sip without blowing on it first. “So you’ve had a bad day?” 

 

“I had to tell somebody to tell somebody to tell somebody something important, and I ended up with egg on my face.” Sam blew on his coffee and then took a long sip. “Bad for you too?” 

 

“Let’s just say I’ve had a bad year,” Jess replied. “But this soup kicks ass. I hope the sandwich is as good.”

 

“Everything here is good.” Sam eyed the grilled cheese that I delivered. “I can tell you from experience.”

 

She took a big bite and rolled her eyes. “Well, shit. I’m going to have to come back.” 

 

Sam just grinned at her and I went on with my work. Another convert, another day at the diner. Whatever Jessica’s problem, she’d been drawn here and that meant we could help her. At least I hoped so; she was funny, sarcastic, and clearly struggling. I hoped she became one of our regulars. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm quite put out by the way the writers of Agents of SHIELD are jerking around Fitz and Simmons, so I'm starting a fix it. Trip isn't dead, and Mack may just have a shot with Fritz. Oh, and Rosalind probably won't show up in season 3. Writer's got to do, what a writer's got to do to deal, am I right?


End file.
